Quotes About Fate

would to god I'd stayed right here in my own house with a third of all that wealth and they were still alive, all who died on the wide plain of Troy those years ago, far from the stallion-land of Argos.

I am the son of a great man. A goddess was my mother. Yet death and inexorable destiny are waiting for me as well.

and they limp and halt, they're all wrinkled, drawn, they squint to the side, can't look you in the eyes, and always bent on duty, trudging after Ruin, maddening, blinding Ruin.

It was built against the will of the immortal gods, and so it did not last for long.

Borneo and Juliet, A Midsummer Night's Bream

Would, by father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo, that not a single man of all the Trojans might be left alive, nor yet of the Argives, but that we two might be alone left to tear aside the mantle that veils the brow of Troy.

The rage of Achilles—sing it now, goddess, sing through me the deadly rage that caused the Achaeans such grief and hurled down to Hades the souls of so many fighters, leaving their naked flesh to be eaten by dogs and carrion birds, as the will of Zeus was accomplished. Begin at the time when bitter words first divided that king of men, Agamemnon, and godlike Achilles.

Ama kaç?? yok ecelden, zaman? geldiÄŸinde her insan, en sevgili kullar bile göçüp giderler bu dünyadan.

the thunder has sounded--but who knows where the rain's going to fall.

Look, my Lord! see, Heaven itself declares against your impious intentions!" "Heaven nor Hell shall impede my designs," said Manfred, advancing again to seize the Princess.

Spit me out, says the meme, and you will tempt a fate worse than death.317

What is done is done; and the cracked egg cannot be cured.

People say you're born innocent, but it's not true. You inherit all kinds of things that you can do nothing about. You inherit your identity, your history, like a birthmark that you can't wash off. ... We are born with our heads turned back, but my mother says we have to face into the future now. You have to earn your own innocence, she says. You have to grow up and become innocent.

All of you, all who are present--consider me worthy of pity, do you not? Good God! When I think of what I was on the point of doing, I consider that I am to be envied.

As things stand now, I am going to be a writer. I'm not sure that I'm going to be a good one or even a self-supporting one, but until the dark thumb of fate presses me to the dust and says 'you are nothing', I will be a writer.

On some days you get what you want, and on others, you get what you need.

It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die.

There is a huge body of evidence to support the notion that me and the police were put on this earth to do extremely different things and never to mingle professionally with each other, except at official functions, when we all wear ties and drink heavily and whoop it up like the natural, good-humored wild boys that we know in our hearts that we are..These occasions are rare, but they happen — despite the forked tongue of fate that has put us forever on different paths...

Jesus man! You don't look for acid! Acid finds you when *it* thinks you're ready.

I have never believed much in luck, and my sense of humor has tended to walk on the dark side.

On some nights Fate will pick you up like a chicken and slam you around on the walls until your body feels like a beanbag. . . . BOOM! BLOOD! DEATH! So long, Bubba--You knew it would End like this. . . .

I am become death, the shatterer of worlds; Waiting that hour that ripens to their doom. This

What a gulf between impression and expression! That's our ironic fate—to have Shakespearean feelings and (unless by some billion-to-one chance we happen to be Shakespeare) to talk about them like automobile salesmen or teenagers or college professors. We practice alchemy in reverse—touch gold and it turns into lead; touch the pure lyrics of experience, and they turn into the verbal equivalents of tripe and hogwash.

The scene [Bruegel's 'Landscape with the Fall of Icarus'] is filled with a vast field, and a cow and a farmer plowing. In the left-hand corner is a tiny ocean the size of a palm, and there, I can barely make it out, the two legs of a man who fell headlong into the sea. This is called the Fall of Icarus. Compared to everyday life, the fall of an idealist who flew too high with candle-wax wings is an unremarkable tragedy.